Robert Fuller Murray
Robert Fuller Murray Poems
|121.||A Song Of Truce||1/3/2003|
|122.||A Wasted Day||1/3/2003|
|123.||A New Song To An Old Tune - From Victor Hugo||1/3/2003|
|124.||A Birthday Gift||1/3/2003|
|125.||A May-Day Madrigal||1/3/2003|
|126.||A Lost Opportunity||1/3/2003|
|127.||The Golf Ball And The Loan||1/3/2003|
|128.||A Lover's Confession||1/3/2003|
|129.||A Summer Morning||1/3/2003|
|130.||A Late Good Night||1/3/2003|
|131.||A Criticism Of Critics||1/3/2003|
|132.||A December Day||1/3/2003|
Comments about Robert Fuller Murray
A December Day
Blue, blue is the sea to-day,
Warmly the light
Sleeps on St. Andrews Bay --
Blue, fringed with white.
That's no December sky!
Surely 'tis June
Holds now her state on high,
Queen of the noon.
Only the tree-tops bare
Crowning the hill,
Clear-cut in perfect air,
Warn us that still
Winter, the aged chief,
Mighty in power,
Exiles the tender leaf,
Exiles the flower.
Is there a heart to-day,
A heart that grieves
For flowers that fade away,
For fallen leaves?
Oh, not in leaves or flowers
Whene'er I try to read a book,
Across the page your face will look,
And then I neither know nor care
What sense the printed words may bear.
At night when I would go to sleep,
Thinking of you, awake I keep,
And still repeat the words you said,
Like sick men murmuring prayers in bed.